


Misty Weather

by orphan_account



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Katekyou Hitman Reborn! Fusion, Avenger Loki (Marvel), M/M, Odin's A+ Parenting, Possessive Behavior, Rampant Codependency, Superpowers, Vigilante AU-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-06 19:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15892821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Loki turns up late to the meeting wearing a pair of Armani shades, a million-dollar diamond necklace, and a venti pumpkin spice latte that Tony can smell from across the room.It’s not even the first time this has happened.





	1. Chapter 1

Loki turns up late to the meeting wearing a pair of Armani shades, a million-dollar diamond necklace, and a venti pumpkin spice latte that Tony can smell from across the room.

Instead of saying something along the lines of, "Why are you late?" or "You _do_ know the meeting started an hour ago, right?" like perhaps a more responsible team leader might say, Tony leans back, spreads his arms wide and says,

"Hey, where's mine?"

Loki lifts his shades, shunting them off to some far corner of the universe, and gives him a flat look. It's the same look teenage girls shoot their parents when they're trying and failing to be hip, only on Loki, which makes it five times more terrifying because there's always a fifty-fifty chance of someone being stabbed when Loki's involved.

The coin falls on heads today. Loki snaps his fingers and a venti cup of his usual order appears in front of him, no knife in sight.

Tony grins. _Nice._

“Meeting adjourned! Shoo shoo, coffee break time.”

The head of the Lightning department looks like he’s going to say something, but then he takes one look at Loki, one look at Thor, and any arguments he has shrivels away. He and the Mist department head skitter back to their offices.

Loki saunters in and plants himself right in his brother’s lap. Thor takes the surprise addition of weight like a champion weightlifter. He wraps an arm around Loki's waist to stop him from falling, tucks his other arm under Loki's knees to manhandle him into a better position, and inclines his head to be fed a sip of his brother's latte.

It's all very finely orchestrated.

And predictable. There’s a reason why Tony sent off his more innocent employees when Loki came in looking like _that_.

“Kit,” Thor rumbles, chiding. But there isn’t any heat to it and Loki knows it.

Tony takes a sip of his toasted coconut cold brew and desperately tries to be less of a third wheel. He’s way, way too old for this.

“Hey guys, still here, thanks,” says Tony, and then gestures towards his neck. “Where’d you get the necklace?”

Loki glances over his shoulder at him and tilts his head up. “Oh, this?” he asks, blinking his eyes all slow and pretty-like.

Personally, the necklace is a little too gaudy for Tony’s taste, but Loki wears it like a queen.

“Janet from yoga class is going to come home to a very pleasant surprise,” says Loki. He turns back around and tucks himself under Thor’s chin, making himself right at home. “If she checks her collection at all, that is. One little statement piece gone missing isn’t going to be too obvious.”

Tony shares a look with Thor.

“You took the centerpiece, didn’t you?” Thor asks.

“Well, it was _right there_ ,” Loki says. “Come on, she uses a Chanel _yoga mat_ —look me in the eyes and tell me you _wouldn’t_ rob her of house and home. I was doing her a favor, only taking this little thing.”

Tony rolls his eyes heavenward. “Tell me you didn’t take Peter with you.”

“Who do you think bought your coffee?”

Just as Tony opens his mouth to say something scathing, probably doubling as an opener to a lecture on what activities are _not_ recommended for a growing fifteen-year-old boy to partake in, even one who is technically related to the Mafia, Loki adds, “I told him to wait outside.”

“Oh thank god.”

“ _Someone_ needed to hack the security system.”

Tony whips his head around. “What—Loki!”

Loki’s smile is smug. “Face it, he’s a natural Mist.”

“He is a _Sky_ , and I do _not_ want to see what a Mist-Sky hybrid turns into, so would you just—” Oh, hell, who is he kidding. Tony turns to Thor. “Could you control your brother, please?”

“I don’t know, Tony…” Thor shrugs. “Young Peter needs training.”

“Yes, and I’d prefer to train him in a safe, controlled environment without any criminal activity until he turns Flame Active,” Tony gives Loki a significant look, “And awakens his Sky flames. Sky. Not Mist.”

“Suit yourself,” Loki says, which, from what Tony’s learned, really doesn’t promise anything at all.

Thor seems to know it, too, and takes pity on Tony for one blessed, holy second.

“Kit,” he rumbles, pressing the reprimand into the crown of Loki’s head, “Play nice. Young Peter is fifteen. He needs a well-rounded education.”

—Finally, someone _other than Tony_ is talking sense around here—

“He should be learning hand-to-hand combat first,” concludes Thor.

“What,” says Tony.

Loki huffs and bats his brother’s face away. “Of course _you_ would say that. He should practice the skills he already has first, teach him the different situations he’ll need to be ready for. _That_ will teach him to be cautious, and _then_ —”

“Uh, ‘scuse me,” Tony interrupts, “Which one of us is Peter’s guardian here?”

“Legally, none of us,” Loki says.

Which. Is true. Tony’s working on that part.

“Just—” Tony rubs at his temples, “—no more bringing him on your Robin Hood shenanigans. We can revisit that _later_ , when he can actually consent to joining a vigilante justice group.”

Thor motions his acquiescence. Whether he actually chooses to corral his brother’s mischief, however, remains to be seen.

Logically speaking, Tony knows that as long as Loki wills it, Peter could be nowhere safer than under the protection of one of the Underworld’s most powerful Mist users. Illusions such as Loki’s could upend an entire block just as easy as they could restore it. The problem is, of course, _if Loki wills it_.

Sure, they seem to get along well enough now, but Tony is more than aware of the fact that the only one who holds Loki’s loyalty is Thor, and there are some days where he thinks even _that_ comes into question.

Ugh, wavering loyalties. If that’s not a mark of a Mist, Tony isn’t sure what is.

—Which is why Peter is a _Sky_ , damn it, and no one else can convince him otherwise.

Tony sets down his Starbucks to the sight of the two brothers somehow more cuddled up together than before. Loki seems to have made it his life’s mission to turn his brother into the world’s comfiest bean bag chair—a challenge in and of itself because, well, _Thor_ ; have you seen the guy?—and Thor, as in most things, is 100% supportive of his brother’s pursuits, stroking his waist and gazing down at Loki like he’d invented puppies and caffeine, two things the world couldn’t go on without.

They’re not even looking at Tony. The building could catch fire in the next five seconds and they still wouldn’t have looked anywhere but each other.

“You have a room, you know,” Tony says. “Two of them, actually.”

Loki slants his gaze over to him and undoes the clasp to his necklace before pulling a bag out of thin air. Then, he unceremoniously tosses both items across the table, letting it land in front of Tony with a heavy _thunk_.

“Merry Christmas,” he says.

It’s the first week of November.

“I’ll pass it on to Nat,” Tony says, eyeing the heap. He hesitantly picks up the bag and feels it ladden with both weight and flames—a signature invention of his Cloud department: a ‘bottomless’ expanding storage space.

Only God knows how many priceless artifacts it’s stuffed full with. Say what you want about Loki, but he _is_ thorough.

“You got a charity in mind or something?”

“As you like,” says Loki. He settles back against his seat.

Tony looks at Thor. Thor makes a dismissive— _impatient_ , in Tony’s opinion—gesture.

Great. Wonderful. “Yeah. Didn’t think so,” Tony mutters. And then louder, he says, “If you guys are gonna fuck in here, don’t let me find out about it.”

Loki hums. Thor, at least, has the decency to smile and say, “See you at dinner.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. He stuffs the necklace into the bag without looking and walks right out the door with it, Starbucks in his other hand. “Dinner. Sure. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The door slams shut behind him.

Mists, he thinks. _Loki_. Ugh.

* * *

Thor patiently waits the five seconds it takes Loki to throw up an illusion for JARVIS before he says, “Now, what were you actually doing?”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

Oh, that’s _always_ a good sign. “Good news first, I suppose.”

Loki stands up. “Alright, so, the _bad news_ —” Thor sighs. Loki acts like he hadn’t heard him. “—starts with a ’T’ and ends in ‘-anos’. Three guesses who and I’ll even be generous—your first two don’t count.”

Thor sits up. Thanos. Thanos is the definition of bad news, but last they heard, he was an ocean away. “What does Thanos want here?”

Loki waves him down dismissively. “A long, convoluted story that involves research into the seventh Infinity Stone. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, no,” says Thor, “I think I’ll worry about it. I think an Infinity Stone is definitely something we need to worry about.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because there _is_ no Stone to worry about.”

Thor hunches forward. “Run that by me one more time.”

“I _told_ you, it’s a long story.” When Thor doesn’t let up, Loki sighs and continues. “The seventh Infinity Stone doesn’t exist. It was a mistranslated text that I might’ve…encouraged the mistranslation of. Don’t worry about it. What you _should_ be worrying about is Thanos.”

Thor doesn’t look impressed.

Loki coughs. “This is the part where you say, ‘Oh no Loki, what ever are we to do?’”

“‘Oh no Loki, what ever are we to do,’” Thor parrots.

“And that’s where the good news comes in! Thanos doesn’t know we’re here,” says Loki. He spreads his arms wide as if this fact should be suitably impressive and owe him some sound of applause or appreciation.

Thor stares. Then, without a word, he stands up and begins to pace.

Loki lets his arms fall. “Can you not see the advantage of this?”

“I do, but as you’ve tried to impress upon me many times in the past, a war is not so easily won by surprising the enemy and slamming a hammer in their face,” says Thor, and then promptly resumes pacing.

Affronted, Loki walks after him. “Now wait just a minute—who said anything about a war?”

Thor pauses. Stops. Spins around.

Loki crosses his arms. “Oh, _now_ you want to hear what I’ve to say, do you?”

“ _Loki_.”

“Alright, alright. Now, stop me if I’m going too fast for you—”

Thor makes an impatient motion. Loki raises both hands in surrender, and then,

“I say, we dip ship.” He makes a gesture towards the window.

Thor gives him a second-long stare before starting to pace again.

Loki follows after him. “We could go to Taiwan,” he says, “Or Madagascar. Singapore. Somewhere tropical. With a beach. You like those things, don’t you? Thunderstorms all the time.”

“We can’t just _leave_ , Loki.”

“Sure we can! If you’re so worried about what your friends might think, I can fake our deaths.”

Thor abruptly stops. He spins around and nearly smacks Loki right off his feet. “I,” he begins, “am not going to _flee_ like some—”

“Coward?” Loki demands. He sneers. “Well, better a coward than dead. Or need I remind you exactly what Thanos will do to us if he finds us here?”

That makes Thor pause, chest heaving as he searches for…something. Loki doesn’t know. He furrows his brows, paces his breath, and stares at Loki for a long time. It feels too accusatory for Loki to just stand there and take it, so he turns away and makes a circle around the room himself, only stopping when he’s at the farthest point away from Thor.

“You’re so _brave_ , Brother,” Loki says. He doesn’t know which of the two of them he’s mocking—maybe both. “So _courageous_ , thinking as long as you stand and fight for something, you’ll win and get your way. That if you haven’t, then you simply didn’t try _hard enough_.”

Thor is silent.

Loki smiles to himself. “And maybe that’s true,” he says on, “but only for you. Others unlike yourself, we poor, mortal folk, _we_ have limits. When we get hurt, we—”

“You’re not allowed to die on me,” Thor interrupts. There’s lightning, a storm in his sheer bulk as he stalks forward. “Not then, not ever.”

“And how do you intend to keep me safe if we stay in Thanos’ path?”

Thor’s eyes flash orange. Loki sighs into his embrace, feeling his own flames respond to his Sky’s call. This privilege is his and his alone.

“You know there is little I would not do for you,” Thor murmurs into his ear. “I would resurrect you time and time again—fill your veins with my flames until death has no choice but to relinquish you to me. You are all I need, all I will ever need.”

Loki presses his nose into the crook of Thor’s neck and nuzzles.

“However.”

He tenses. Thor strokes his neck, squeezing his waist in reassurance.

“If we leave now and Thanos’ path of destruction continues, if he turns to rule the entire Underworld, what will happen then? The Infinity Stones will be his for the taking. Say if we run, run to an island in the middle of the ocean to live the rest of our lives in solidity, what will happen if one day he stumbles across us? We will be alone, utterly alone, and not even I can fell his army with those odds.”

Loki breathes out.

“You know this to be true,” Thor says, pressing a fond kiss to the crown of his head. “We cannot run forever. There is only so much land, and Thanos will search it all if it means obtaining the Stones.”

“Do you really think we have a chance with _this_ motley crew?”

“They’re our friends,” Thor chides. “And if not with them, then who?”

Loki turns his head and glares up at him. “There are many others who would happily take in the missing Princes of Asgard, two known powerful Flame Actives. Italy in particular, but the Chinese Triad also holds considerable weight.”

“Ah, but you forget—few would take in a Sky of my strength. We’re horribly territorial, after all, and I am unbound in five of six elements.”

Loki grips the lapels of his suit coat and pulls. “ _I_ am all you need.”

“Yes,” Thor says calmly, “but even if they tolerated our stay, they wouldn’t believe that. If they don’t believe I’m there to steal their elements, then they’ll harbor thoughts of binding me to their Family _using_ their elements, and we all know what you’d do to them then.”

The pointed reminder of Loki’s more homicidal habits only serves to make him more agitated.

“You belong to _me_ ,” Loki commands, “and if anyone dares to try and take you away, _so help me God I will_ —”

“Yes,” says Thor. His smile is so full of affection, all of Loki’s tension drains away. “So you know how I feel now. After all, killing me and taking _you_  would be another posibility—what Sky doesn't desire a strong, beautiful Mist like mine?”

Thor moves his hand to stroke Loki’s cheek. Loki presses into the motion, ravenous.

“You would destroy them all,” Loki says.

“I would,” Thor agrees softly. “For you. As you would for me.”

They pause for a moment, sharing more words in a gaze than everything that’s already been said.

Finally, Loki looks away. There’s a distinct pout on his face, and Thor laughs heartily.

“Thank you for choosing to stay with me, Brother.”

“What—I didn’t agree to anything yet!”

Thor grins. “Like I said, thank you for choosing to stay with me. I know there are certain things you are better at than I—planning a war, for one. Your expertise will be of great assistance.”

Loki curses. “Oh, don’t you try and pull that _on me_ , you manipulative son of a—”

Thor kisses the next curse right from his lips, curling his tongue to snare any further arguments. It only works because Loki allows it, of course.

Of course.

“Fine,” says Loki, aiming for annoyed but sounding breathless instead. “Tell your friends. Fight a losing war. No problem.”

“I know you will protect me well,” says Thor. He can’t stop smiling; it’s not every day he can so soundly trounce his brother in argument.

“Protect you? I’d probably be the one to _kill you_ for getting us into this mess.”

“Mmm. Definitely you and not Thanos.”

“Yes,” says Loki. “In this exact spot. And I’ll make sure to say ‘I told you so’ as you bleed out before Thanos comes.”

“ _Kit_ ,” Thor says, sighing. “What ever have I done to be blessed with such a merciful brother?”

When Thor tries to press another kiss to Loki’s forehead, Loki dodges and twist away.

“Don’t test your luck,” says Loki. He sniffs and picks a stray piece of lint off his clothes. “You owe me for this. My services don’t come cheap.”

“Naturally.”

Loki slides his gaze back to his brother once before turning away. “‘Naturally,’” he echoes, scoffing.

And then, Loki disappears in a rush of indigo Mist flames.

Thor sighs, fond to a fault. It’s just like Loki to leave him with the hardest task—explaining to their friends just who caused the fall of the Asgard crime syndicate, and why they’re all royally fucked if they don’t do something about it.

Well, he _is_ the eldest. Thor will just have to get Loki back for it later.


	2. Chapter 2

Long before humanity was a blip in Earth’s geologic time scale, there existed the Seven Flames of the Sky: Storm, Rain, Sun, Lightning, Cloud, Mist, and the Sky itself.

From what corner of the universe they originated from, no one knew, but to the special race of beings born long before humans, these seven flames created the world and breathed life into Earth’s atmosphere. They carried the world, and should their flames go out, so too would the planet.

In order to stop this from happening, humanity was born: creatures who carried flames in their hearts and souls, locked away—hidden to prevent their flames from going out prematurely. 

Most humans never saw a single spark in their entire life, but for those who fell under certain conditions, those who hung from the precipice of death and successfully clawed their way back to life—for these Flame Actives, these flames were called the seven “Dying Will Flames”.

The Red Flame of Storm: able to disintegrate any material on Earth.

The Blue Flame of Rain: able to tranquilize all thought and emotion.

The Yellow Flame of Sun: able to illuminate all strengths and heal all pain.

The Green Flame of Lightning: able to shield all strikes and strike through all shields.

The Purple Flame of Cloud: able to replicate and propogate all objects and techniques.

The Indigo Flame of Mist: able to construct and surpass the boundary between illusion and reality.

And finally, the rarest—the Orange Flame of Sky: able to harmonize and mirror all elements, creating balance.

Beginning with the first generation of the Vongola Famiglia, Flames became the trademark of the Underworld. It was tradition that a Sky Flame user was placed at the head of the Family, with their ability to form special bonds with other element users and ‘attract’ more members as a sign of capable leadership. Only bosses with a full set of elements—that is, one of each of the other six Flames—were respected and had any sort of political clout.

This was the history of the modern Underworld, including the Asgard syndicate: one organization under one Sky, leading the Family with their six Guardians.

Loki grows up spending his entire childhood memorizing this phrase and learning it inside-out, but he doesn’t really understand what it _means_ until his thirteenth birthday.

Thor is fifteen and a Flame Active Sky—one of the most powerful their lineage has ever seen, and Odin is proud. So proud, in fact, that he sees to it his son would only have the finest set of elements, the prime candidates of which becomes known as the Warriors Three.

They’re friends. _Thor’s_ friends.

Loki doesn’t trust them as far as he can throw them. As far as he’s concerned, _he’ll_ be Thor’s right hand, so what does anyone else matter? It’s _Loki_ who is the youngest recorded Flame Active in the last century—Mist at age one year, seven months—and it’s Loki who knows Thor best.

Even if negotiating trade agreements and territory lines are rather dull, at least Loki’s good at it. He’ll cover all of Thor’s weaknesses, just as he’s taught to.

But they’re friends. _Thor’s_ friends. Thor likes the Warriors Three—he eats with them, hangs out with them, drags them out on adventures and goes everywhere with them. That’s supposed to be Loki’s place, and it was, until Thor turned Flame Active and left Loki in the dust.

Left Loki inside, being carefully nurtured by shelf after shelf of books and tutelage, all for him.

…Maybe Loki could’ve grown to tolerate it. Maybe, like all elements, he would’ve learned to share his Sky, accept the Warriors Three into his own family, learned to love them as equals, as those bound by the purpose of protecting their Sky all are. Maybe.

But _then_ Thor introduces another friend: Sif, a potential candidate for the Rain Guardian position…and his fiancée.

“It will be a marriage of great benefit to both our families,” Thor tells him under the discerning gaze of Odin, but when they’re alone behind closed doors, hiding under the covers like Loki was still seven and Thor was still nine—

“Sif is a good friend,” Thor confides. His nose wrinkles. “But...I don’t know if I want to _marry_ her.”

They tangle their hands together and eat snacks pilfered from the kitchen, reaching across each other’s laps and smiling to themselves. Loki’s heart feels full. He never wants this to change. He never wants _Thor_ to change—but he has. His marriage to Sif would be the final nail in the coffin, Loki knows it.

“If you don’t want to, don’t.”

Thor looks surprised. “But father—”

“Don’t worry about father,” Loki says. The first inklings of a plan take seed in his mind. It’ll work. It’ll _definitely_ work, and then Thor won’t have to get married and if he’s lucky, Sif and her Rain Flames won’t be in the picture at all.

It’s perfect.

“Don’t worry about it at all,” Loki says, and squeezes his hand. “Haven’t I always gotten you out of the worst situations? Trust me, Brother, and leave it to me.”

And Thor does.

The day Sif is to be bound to Thor as his Rain Guardian, Loki steps forward.

“I challenge for the position of Rain,” he declares, thirteen and small and younger than Sif by two years.

The crowd ripples with anxious murmurs. Odin looks furious.

Heimdall taps his staff against the ground twice. His eyes are aged and all-seeing, his expression calm. “Loki Odinson, provide us the Proof of Flame.”

Loki extends his palm, and a brilliant blue Rain Flame bursts from its epicenter.

The crowd’s murmurs grow louder, cresting into shouts and exclamations. ‘Dual flame,’ the say. ‘A Mist-Rain user—’

Heimdall slams the blunt end of his staff to the ground again and the crowd goes silent.

“Lady Sif, do you accept this challenge?”

Sif’s glare is hard, fierce. Loki lifts his chin and stares straight back. If she thinks Thor would be won so easily, Loki will be the one who shows her the error of her ways.

Thor is _his_.

“I accept,” Sif declares.

Loki bares his fangs at her and smiles. He can feel the Mist, the Storm, the Lightning thrumming in his veins, begging for her blood—but no, it must be Rain. It must be Rain that defeats her.

He summons his knives in a swirl of flame, stalks down from the dais and says to her, “It will be your greatest mistake.”

What follows after that is a blur in Loki’s brain. All he recalls is the loud beating of a torrential downpour in his ears, the spread of ice through his veins turning his blood cold and his irises blue. Rain drips from his blades and spreads across the floor, enclosing them in an icy arena.

No one will see her murder here, he thinks. No one will see until the deed is done.

Sif, overwhelmed and outmatched, cannot escape the numbing grasp of his Rain. She puts up a worthy fight—as expected of a Rain candidate—but Loki is better, and instead of mere incapacitation, his aim is to kill.

It plays out like a film before him. Sif on her knees, completely frozen from the chest down, Loki’s knife at her neck, and then—

“ _Stop_!”

—Thor’s grip around his wrist, staying his hand.

“Enough, Loki,” Thor begs, some quality in his voice drilling a hole of guilt into the pit of Loki’s stomach. “Enough. You’ve won.”

Sif lives, but only just.

* * *

Immediately after the botched Rain ceremony, Odin calls Loki into his office. Thor is not allowed in with him.

He thinks he knows what this is all about. Loki _did_ incapacitate and severely wound Thor’s would-be fiancée, after all, and this would harm the relationship between their families most grievously. Sif is in no state to be a warrior queen of the Underworld, especially not of one who would become Asgard’s next boss. Her net worth has been singlehandedly destroyed by Loki.

Loki supposes the upcoming lecture will be the worst one in ages, but he knows what’s done is done. Odin, even with all his might, cannot change the past. Loki has won.

He walks in. The office is dark.

Odin stands waiting for him in the center of the room, hands behind his back.

“Loki,” his father says, “come in.”

Loki does. He stands before his father and patiently waits, notes that they’re alone; his father is almost never without one of his Guardians, and yet now, there is only the two of them.

“Why do you think I’ve called you here today?”

“Because I challenged Sif,” Loki says, “and I won.”

Odin looks down at him, his one eye gleaming. “You did more than win, but both of us know that.”

Loki swallows and averts his eyes.

Odin sighs. “You’re wrong,” he says. “While the matter of Lady Sif will need to be addressed, that is not what I’ve called you here to discuss.”

Loki looks up, surprised. “Father?”

In Odin’s hands are two magnets, completely identical. One end, Odin lights with Sky flames, and the other, he lights with Mist.

“Perhaps it is fate to have awakened your Sky Flames,” Odin says.

Loki jolts. He thought—

“Do you truly wish to be your brother’s Mist? With all your heart?”

“I do,” Loki says immediately. It’s what he’s always known, what he’s always been taught. He is Thor’s—this fact, no one can take away from him.

Odin nods slowly, assessing. “Then today, you will make a choice.”

He holds the magnets out to Loki, and Loki gingerly picks them up. Orange and purple on matching poles.

“What we call ‘Sky Attraction’—the tendency for Skies to draw the other elements to them—can also be referred to as ‘Sky Magnetism’. You know this term from your readings, I expect.”

“Yes, Father.”

“See what happens when you push them together.”

Loki looks up at his father, but Odin gives no more instructions than that. He turns back to the magnets and, holding one in each hand, he moves the opposing Sky Flames towards each other.

No matter how hard he tries, the two ends refuse to touch.

Loki frowns. He pushes harder. And harder. So much harder, the two flames strike against each other and slide right off. What once was there is no longer; the flames have gone out.

“Two Skies cannot form a bond,” Odin says. “If they try, it is inevitable that they tear themselves apart.”

Loki’s hands tighten around the magnets.

“So you must choose: to be Thor’s Mist, or to be your own Sky.”

It all collides together: Thor’s distance, Thor spending time with his friends, all without Loki—has it all been because of his Flames? Has Loki’s very nature driven Thor away, compelled by some instinct to squirrel away his elements out of Loki’s reach—away from Loki, his brother, his right hand, his Mist—

If that’s the case, the choice isn’t a choice at all. There’s no question what Loki will choose. Between losing Thor and keeping Thor—

Loki returns the magnets to Odin’s palm. “I will be Thor’s Mist,” he says, and it feels right.

“So be it,” says Odin. His eye glows orange, and the entirety of his hand goes up in flames, the magnets disintegrating to dust.

Odin reaches out and presses his palm to Loki’s forehead.

Loki expects warmth, perhaps even a jolt—but the purity of his father’s Sky Flames _burn_ , searing his skin until they brand bone. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but for Thor—for Thor he will endure any pain. As long as Thor looks at him. As long as Thor smiles at him. As long as Thor doesn’t go away and leave Loki alone, alone, _alone_ —

The burning stops and suddenly, Loki feels all his strength sapped out of him. He would’ve fallen to his knees had Odin’s grip not held him where he stood, and through that hand, a cold emptiness slowly begins to descend over his mind.

It isn’t the same chill as the Rain, Loki thinks. The cold that had washed away his mercy, his reason, was not this. _This_ was not the tranquility of cold blood but the theft of heat; of essence; of will from body, and—

Panic sets in.

Almost on sheer instinct, Loki begins to claw at Odin’s hand. “No!” he shouts, cries, _begs_ , “Father, stop! Don’t take them away! Don’t take my Flames away!”

“This is your choice,” Odin says, his grip of iron. “With this, you will become the perfect Mist to suit your brother.”

 _Brother. Thor_. Loki tries to cry out again, but even his voice seems drained of him; all he can hear in his ears is the crackle of Sky Flames, all he can see is dark, angry orange lashing before his eyes.

One by one, his fingers fall away.

“…Thor…”

“For Thor,” Odin agrees grimly. “Be still, my son; it will be over soon.”

“……Thor…h—”

Loki chokes on the last word. He feels so, so tired. The world is murky and spinning about him. His skin feels cold; his bone like glacier; his skull heavy as weighted lead.

“—m—…”

Loki’s eyes flutter shut, and just as one might put out a candle, Odin snuffs out the last of Loki’s fledgling Sky Flames.

* * *

Loki sleeps for seven days and seven nights. He awakes to healers, Sun Flame users, bustling in and out of his room.

There is an ache in him soul-deep, reaching for something that is not there.

When the last of them have left, Loki sits up. He extends a hand and calls to him Flames—Mist, sprouting forth as high as the ceiling, farther than they have ever gone before on such a weak command.

Loki gazes into their depths and sees the shards of a dream. No, a nightmare—

A memory.

He tries to summon his Sky Flames and they do not come.

 _Never again_ , Loki thinks, _never again. Never again_. He curls up into a ball, squeezes his knees to his chest and tries to recall what they felt like—what warmth had filled his soul once, what will had been there.

It doesn’t come, but there’s something else: a thread leading somewhere familiar.

Loki gives it a tug.

Five minutes later, Thor comes bursting into the room. “Loki!” he cries, and immediately pulls him into a breathless hug. “Brother, you’re alive!”

Loki wheezes. “I won’t be for long if you keep up like that!”

Thor immediately lets go. “Mother said you’d fallen ill,” he says, “and the healers—none of them could fix you—you took and took and took all their Sun Flames and still you wouldn’t get better, I—”

Loki waits. Thor swallows.

“I didn’t know what to do,” Thor confesses. “What would I do without you, Loki?”

That’s right; everything he’s done, Loki’s done for Thor. Had Thor not been here now, maybe Loki would’ve been bitter, but the fact of the matter is it worked. Thor isn’t with the Warriors Three. He isn’t even with Sif, who surely must still be recovering from severe frostbite. No, he’s with Loki, pale and close to tears, admitting he wouldn’t be able to manage without him.

Loki reaches for him and Thor immediately laces their fingers together. They squeeze almost simultaneously, as if they’d never been apart.

“I’m here,” Loki says softly. “Brother, I’m here.”

Thor buries his face in his shoulder and cries. “Promise you’ll never scare me like that again. I’d be lost without you, you must know; you must, Loki, you must.”

It’s a promise no Guardian could ever make.

Loki could lie. He could, and it’d be easy, and Thor would accept it without question. But.

He knows he will have to lie about many more things in the future.

“Have faith, Brother,” Loki says instead. “As long as you’ll have me, I won’t ever leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may've noticed the chapter count change. I'm tentatively guesstimating this at 4, but it's possible I could stuff everything into 3. 5 is unlikely, though.

**Author's Note:**

> nothing screams weeb quite like a KHR AU


End file.
